The Devil's Work
by WTFWonder
Summary: In God’s name, or is it God’s work in the devil’s name? B wonders what L considers it.
1. Timing

**The Devil's Work**

By Someone with Time on Their Hands

Summary: In God's name, or is it God's work in the devil's name? B wonders what L considers it.

The power of punctuality is astounding. Take a person behind the wheel of a car. Ahead of them is an impatient yellow light on the brink of turning red. Maybe the driver could have resigned themselves and slowed to a stop, letting the unseen cyclist on the right speed safely past. Or perhaps the driver could've been early enough to catch the green light and the cyclist would still be on the other side of the paved hill. Then again maybe the driver and the cyclist arrived at the intersection too early, giving the car its green light and the cyclist no time to brake against momentum. Whether or not the cyclist turns into a splatter depends on what time the car is going past, what time the cyclist started down the hill, what time the traffic flow switched and a hundred other factors sticking to their unwritten schedules.

In short: timing is everything.

The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases for example. Would you believe the lives of two serial killers, an FBI agent, and a detective hinged on what time said FBI agent knocked her head on a doorknob? It's true. Had Naomi Misora thumped herself half a minute too late—a measly twenty eight seconds—killer number one would die early, as would she and the detective, all at the hands of killer number two who would go on to live an extra half a decade or so before croaking. That's how it would've gone down in wordless history if not for one renegade factor that decided to take fate's schedule and scratch it up into indecipherable strips.

Naturally that factor was a cat.

"_Mrreeeowwr!_" It came from the other side of Blackberry Brown's apartment door, complete with a hackle-raising scratch against the wood. The sound jolted Misora out of her spiraling thoughts and she jerked up into the doorknob. It hit her square on the back of her crown and she cursed. Between rubbing her head and mentally cussing out the cat she glanced at the doorknob. At the thumb latch lock. Anyone familiar with the top secret, vacuum-sealed, nearly-intangible file on the BB Murders will know that Misora's account detailed how the voodoo/Wara Ningyo dolls nailed across from said thumb latch locks were crucial to the killer's ultimate goal, likewise with the modus operandi of choosing victims with alliterative names with B.B. and Q.Q. initials, the specificity of the victims' mutilations and et cetera.

For those who don't give a damn for all the build up behind Misora's epiphany here's the gist: her partner of the past few days was not really "Rue Ryuzaki.". Her partner was the serial killer, alias B, alias Beyond Birthday, alias L's greatest adversary pre-Kira. Her partner was the last victim.

"Oh…" '_damn it!_' Misora barreled out of the apartment, passing the indifferent cat on her way downstairs. She drew her gun and ignored a shocked, shrieking civilian woman as she sprinted down the hall. Room 404. The door was unlocked but the rooms inside weren't. Through the adrenaline rush she could hear hurried splashing and smell the thick stink of gasoline. '_No time to knock or ask or kick or turn knobs just--!_' Misora shot the polished doorknob off and kicked the door open. "Freeze!"

For half a second Naomi could have laughed. There was "Rue Ryuzaki" standing hunched on the other side of the room, his black hair and plain clothes soggy with gas and a lighter pinched in his fingers. His big eyes gaped at her and his mouth pouted open in dumbfounded wonder. He looked like a kid with his hand still in the cookie, '_Jam. Strawberry jam, never ate cookies, remember?_' jar. The moment passed and he was Beyond Birthday again, a very surprised serial killer ready to incinerate himself.

"No…", he whispered as if she would disappear if he denied her existence. Misora could not be standing there in the door, gun drawn or otherwise. She couldn't be. Misora was L's avatar, yes, she was intelligent, yes, but not enough to have figured it out on her own. "No," he sighed again, shaking his head, "no you can't. This was supposed to be… I was going to win! I'm supposed to win don't you see, and--!" B cut himself short when his eyes caught on something just above the woman's head. That was when Misora watched something visibly crack in the killer's mind. His eyes trembled back and forth, staring in awe at whatever phantom he saw above her hair with his lips mouthing silent questions.

"Rue Ryuzaki, I'm arresting you on suspicion of the murders of Believe Bridesmaid, Quarter Queen, and Backyard Bottomslash. You do _not_ have the right to remain silent--." Misora only got that far in her paraphrased Miranda rights when B took her offer and ran with it.

"How did you do it?" B was still glaring at the space over her head and she wondered if he was talking to some phantom in his mind. "How did you _do _it!?" The whites of his eyes ballooned as his gaze shot from the top of her head to her face. She held in a flinch. "You changed it! You did something to change all of it so I can't win and your numbers are different!" The hand holding the lighter turned into a sharp-knuckled fist as some hysteric revelation flapped around in his head. His empty hand flexed and curled, his back hunched tighter and shook. Fresh panic sparked in Naomi's mind.

'_Is he going into a nervous breakdown? Will he still torch himself? What about the rest of the apartment?...Do I have to shoot?_' "Ryuzaki."

"Misora…" His voice was wavering in and out of two timbres now. One was trying to harness "Rue Ryuzaki's" monotone while the other seemed to crackle with vicious energy. A voice that wanted to chuckle like Vincent Price or roar like a choir of madmen. After a few tense gasps through his nose, B hissed, "I have to know what you did." His fist looked like it was on the verge of crushing the BiC in an explosion of plastic and lighter fluid. The man's lids and lips twitched in strain and she could see a new drop of wet roll down one cheek that she was sure wasn't gas. "I have to know what,"

"Ryuzaki."

"you did to figure it out and—no." The scalding tone spurted through the shell of the monotone and his wide stare shifted to the damp carpet. He was showing his teeth as he babbled now, "No, no, no it's too late anyway, isn't it? This means I lose. Even if I take you with me, he'll still _know_ and I'll still be the loser." He was completely short circuiting upstairs now and even his breath was turning hoarser, more ragged. His brow quirked up and down in childish disappointment and confused rage by turns while the lips couldn't decide between frowning and snarling. Misora gasped through her teeth as she watched him bring the lighter up to his face and the fuel on his jaw seemed to gain an extra sheen.

His thumb rubbed the trigger. '_Nononono!_' "B!" His eyes jumped back to her and he froze.

"Don't do it, B. You need," '_Every antipsychotic drug known to man._' "help. This has all been a fight, a contest against L, right?"

"…" B stroked the trigger. The hectic glow simmered out of his eyes and his breathing turned quiet again. Shallow and controlled. His Ryuzaki breathing. He tapped the lighter against his bottom lip in lieu of a finger. She watched his posture curve smoothly into his accustomed hunch. "Yes. To be privy to all this, I suppose you must have gotten under L's skin. Yet another feat to add to your list. Kudos, Misora." The monotone was superimposed again. "Though I think it's obvious I'm past the point of being 'helped.' I've lost after all." His eyes drifted down to the lighter again.

'_Don't!_' "Haven't you heard of 'losing the battle, but not the war?' If this is a competition against L, then this…this is just a setback isn't it?" Naomi took her first step into the room and B's gaze bounced back to her. His stare went aimlessly from her feet, to her gun, to her face, to the mesmerizing space above her head and back to her face. Misora forced a smile. "You're extremely intelligent, B. You know it, I know it, and L knows it. You kept me dancing like a puppet through the entire investigation and even when I described you to L, he didn't catch on." Two slow steps closer. "The only reason you tripped at the finish line was because of me having a moment of clarity. And because you let something slip." Now her smile felt a bit more natural, if not spiteful. "My capoeira."

Beyond Birthday went rigid at the last word and realization twinkled behind his eyes. Misora nodded and took another step.

"You remember don't you? I never told you I practiced it, but you still threw capoeira in during your little pep talk. The only way you could know about it was if you were L," '_Not a chance in hell,_' "or the man who tried to kill me in the alley." B's shoulders slumped and the woman visibly calmed when the BiC drop a few inches from his face. He stared down at his beaten sneakers as his frown turned into a regretful pucker.

"I underestimated you, Misora." The one thing L never did to his opponents, and B had gone ahead and done it without thinking. It was the only mistake he'd made and Misora had used it to surpass L and B at the same time. The man looked up at her with cowed eyes. "I apologize." He meant it. Naomi nodded carefully and took another step closer. They were close enough to shake hands.

"Accepted. Now you need to stop this and give me the lighter. You need to be taken into custody and--." She was cut off by a bony _crackt_. B cracked his neck in the opposite direction and regarded her with a hot stare.

"Be arrested? Let a jury of strangers decide whether to seal me in a cell or a madhouse? Get incessant fan letters from society's misfits claiming how 'cool' and 'hardcore' I am? You know that is all that waits for me if I 'm arrested," he flicked the lighter, "don't you, Naomi Misora?" Naomi's full attention was on the flicker dancing above the BiC.

'_You shouldn't say it. You shouldn't say any of it. Don't say a word until the bastard roasts himself and then you can douse him with the fire extinguisher. He can't resist arrest if he's barbeque._' "If you do this you'll never have a chance to surpass L." '_Good God, if I live through today I'm investing in duct tape to wear over my mouth during arrests._' "You can't work out a new plan if you're dead. Even if the burns don't kill you you'll just be laying on your cot all day like a charred lump, unable to move," '_Don't say it, don't say it._' "or hatch an escape." '_So investing in duct tape._' "If I…if I visited and brought you jam you couldn't even enjoy it with your tastebuds burnt off." '_Duct tape and snipped vocal chords._'

"…That doesn't sound very professional of you, Misora. I doubt even hired negotiators would have thrown the concept of escaping custody into their speech." A pause. "Or the promise of strawberry jam." B began to rock the lighter back and forth, both of them following the flame. His eyes narrowed contemplatively. "Though you make a valid point. I admit I am a sore loser. I admit that this loss is due to my overconfidence and unfair judgment of your intellect. But," the lighter stopped moving and the glow shone in a crescent over his irises. It looked like two insane smiling faces had been shoved in his sockets.

'_That's right B. Yes. Yes, yes, yes…_' The murderer lifted his thumb and the flame was gone. Naomi struggled not to sigh in front of him.

"I will not admit defeat."

"Happy to hear it." '_Ha!_' "Now throw the lighter over here."

"…"

"B?" Misora raised a brow as B slipped the device into his highly flammable pocket. He favored her with a grin that seemed sliced into place. '_Don't give me another reason to plug you, psycho._' "B, I wouldn't do that."

"No, of course you wouldn't." He brought his thumb to his lip and bared his bottom teeth. "But that is because of your position isn't it? The daring FBI agent on leave, under the employ of the famous detective L, standing for justice and ready to bring the infamous serial killer into custody. That is your role." The hair on the back of her neck stood as Beyond Birthday faced her fully. The gas-doused man looked a great deal like a drenched cat plotting to maul the one who'd dumped the water. "My role is the infamous serial killer cornered by the righteous FBI agent on leave, who is in league with my opponent and ready to clip me to prevent my escape." B's honest voice, the scorching one, slithered in and out of his practiced drone. It tightened her skin.

"Sure leaves us at an impasse doesn't it?"

B nodded and smirked. "Mmm, it certainly does. _But_." His body coiled like a spring and Misora slipped her finger over the trigger.

'_Don't gulp. Don't blink. Don't kill him._' Without breaking the staring contest Beyond thrust his arms straight out, palms up. '_No. Way. There is no way he's really…_' Yet he was.

"There is also the Thomas Harris factor to consider."

"The what?" Misora dropped her left hand from the gun and pulled out a set of cuffs. B flicked his long fingers in a "gimme" motion, still smiling.

"Surely you are aware of his characters via pop culture, Misora. FBI agent Clarice Starling is assigned to collaborate with the ingenious and insane Dr. Hannibal Lecter, alias Hannibal the Cannibal, to catch a serial killer." Misora took a last step closer and holstered her gun, trying not to acknowledge the sweat greasing the nape of her neck. Her legs tensed beneath her in case the killer decided to stop playing nice. B nodded and held his slick wrists out further. In one embarrassingly panicked motion Misora clapped the cuffs on him. "A bit tighter please, I might slip out otherwise." She proceeded to accommodate him and he prattled on, "Over the course of the investigation Clarice must endure Hannibal's mental prodding, the pair of them gaining an abnormal respect for the other. Despite the mad doctor's documented negative actions towards other visitors—insulting them, driving them insane, killing them and et cetera—he cannot do the same to Clarice."

He looked down at the handcuffs and fiddled with their chain. "It's only natural for me to follow suit." B dropped the chain and brought his thumb back to his mouth. "Thomas Harris has done an entire series centered around the doctor's character and his effect on the protagonists. I recommend looking into _Hannibal_ at least; after finishing the _Akazukin Chacha_ series of course." Of course.

Naomi gave him an alien look. "I'll look into it." Finally all of the straight voice returned and for once Misora was happy to see him drop into his fetal sitting position right beside the empty gas can. Then he leaned to the side to gape around her legs.

"Oh, hello there."

"Ah!" Naomi turned to see a rattled woman in the open doorway. "Wh-What's wrong in here--?"

"You should call the police right away! This woman has just apprehended a dangerous criminal that could go on a horrific killing spree at any second!" He waved. "That's me by the way."

The woman looked at him with a queer mix of bewilderment and fear, '_Welcome to my world,_' before glancing to Misora.

"Uh..?"

Misora held out a badge, "FBI. Call 911 immediately so we can get him out of here." The lady fluttered away to a phone. She looked back to Beyond to see him playing with the chain. He stared up at her through his bangs with all the light vacuumed from them. All of B's heinous reality—the blistering madness he'd been sweating since she shot the door open—had evaporated and left Misora feeling like she was watching after an icy gargoyle. For a long moment he was completely still and Misora wondered if he'd stopped breathing.

Finally he murmured, "Naomi Misora it will be some time before the authorities arrive, won't it?" The agent didn't answer and rested her fingertips on the gun holster.

'_Are you having second thoughts, Mr. B?_'

"Well?"

"…About twenty minutes." '_Not counting the mystery agents L hired to bookend the complex._' Her line of sight hovered in the gap between his face—she saw dark smears running from his bottom eyelids—and his cuffed hands resting innocently on his damp knees. His chin dipped further, slanting his eyes into a cartoon villain glare.

"I see." He drummed his fingers but didn't resist the cuffs. "Then we should have enough time to talk. I've been meaning to ask you something important." B lifted his thumb to his lip and squeezed his knee with the other hand. "Something that, when answered, will divulge whether or not you are a morale human being." Misora raised a brow at him.

'_What is he..?_' "What question is that?"

"Honestly I'm not sure I should ask right now. It could place too great a strain on your morality and I wouldn't want to spoil your sense of triumph of making one of the greatest arrests of the decade." Naomi Misora bristled at every word. There was the man who had pointlessly slaughtered three people, one of which was a girl not past her first period, crouched down like a frog and judging _her_. She wanted to kick his pasty face in. She wanted to make him swallow every crime scene photograph taken of his grotesque game. She wanted to pistol whip him once for every syllable in every name of his victims. Misora could do the former and the latter at least. The civilian had no doubt vanished to her own apartment and were someone to walk in on her beating him cripple she could say he was trying to escape. No one would believe him over her.

With all this in mind…why couldn't she do it?

Why couldn't Misora "Massacre" so much as punch him, or yell, or call him the list of bad names for him still growing in her head?

For the life of her, Naomi couldn't answer that question. '_Might as well answer his._' "I think I can weather it." B's expression didn't change.

"Very well then. Misora?" he asked in his most dire baritone.

Misora crushed her hands into fists. "Yes?"

"Would you really bring me strawberry jam?" For the umpteenth time, the man had mentally slapped her upside the head. Naomi allowed herself a millisecond to go lax with incredulous shock before regaining her cool.

'_Should have seen that coming. Somehow._' "What?" B switched his thumb for his index finger and kept up his stare.

"Yes or no, Misora? Would you bring me jam while I am incarcerated? It should be simple enough." She opened her mouth. "As long as you're a good liar." She closed her mouth.

'_What?_'

"You are an extremely righteous person, Naomi Misora. A deaf man could have heard your hate for the killer while we were inspecting Quarter Queen's crime scene. Your disgust at my actions was apparent every time we met. I wouldn't be surprised if you were running a dozen scenarios of you executing me in your mind right now. But you won't. Because, for you, that wouldn't be 'right.' If I'm issued the death sentence you'll rejoice because you will know that your law has proven your desire for my death to be 'right.' I am ninety-two percent sure of all of this. And yet…"

His lips curled up in a devious mimic of a bashful child's smile. "And yet you didn't wait for me to burn. You didn't _want_ me to burn. You could have wasted time knocking on the door, calling my name and warning me you were going to shoot, any of which would've allowed me the time to roast myself. You could have stumbled onto me waving my burning limbs and played the hero by dousing me with the fire extinguisher in the hall. But you didn't. You let that chance to cause me painful retribution, to let me die for my crimes, pass." B leaned forward like a co-conspirator and Misora felt something uncomfortable twist in her stomach, up to her throat. "You showed me—the serial killer who played you for a puppet and butchered three innocent people—_mercy_. Was it because you wanted to save 'Rue Ryuzaki?' Was it because it you couldn't let the killer have one last slaughter, even if it was the killer himself? Or was it something…else?

"_That_ is what I will know when you answer my question truthfully, Naomi Misora. You have saved my life, as it is only right for righteous people to do. But would you go so far as to visit me in the institution of the jury's choice? Would you talk to me through the glass wall on one of those cheap plastic phones? Would you bring me strawberry jam? Shortcake? Pie with whipped topping? Anything that wasn't a variety of derogatory names?"

"What does any of that have to do with me being moral?"

"Answer and I'll tell you."

"…" '_It doesn't mean anything either way, you know that. It doesn't? No. Not at all? _No_. Then why haven't you answered? … Then tell him the truth. What is the truth? No. Yes. No. Yes. He hasn't looked away once, he hasn't even blinked, say something—anything--! It has to be the _truth_—anything!_' "Yes. Yes, I would see you." '_…Well I didn't see that one coming._'

Beyond hadn't budged. "And the jam?"

"In a plastic jar, yes." B's face quirked into a perverse mask of delight making the makeup smudges curve on his cheeks.

"Thank you, Misora. And I apologize.", he deadpanned.

"For what?" Her eyes shot back to the handcuffs. They were still on.

"For lying. You would still have been righteous whether you answered yes or no. By admitting you would, that just means that you _do_ have a second reason for stopping my incineration." The uncomfortable thing in Misora's throat rattled again.

'_It doesn't matter what he says, you were lying. I was? Yes. Definitely. It didn't feel like a lie. Then good job, you're an excellent actress. But—Shut. Up. Okay._' "Care to tell me what it is?"

"How should I know? It's your reason." Absolutely, and it would be fantastic if she knew what the hell that reason was. Looking at the hunched, fuel-smelling creature before her, she could tell he had his own theory and was taking all kinds of pleasure at the thought of it.

"B--."

"Agent Misora, this is the police. Do you have the suspect in custody?" They heard the man's authoritative voice and the tromping of heavy footfalls into the apartment.

"Y-Yes, in here.", she called back, drawing her gun for show. By the time she glanced back B was standing with accustomed crookedness and his smirk gone. He dropped his lip-hand into his pocket and tossed the lighter at her feet.

"My, my, the chaperones are here ahead of schedule, aren't they? We'll have to arrange a date for later, Misora." He spared another glance for the top of her head as the men in blue swarmed the room. '_Much, much later._'

Beyond Birthday was escorted out of the apartment complex with an officer on each arm. The men had to bend to allow for B's posture but eventually ushered him into the back of the paddy wagon. As he sat in his hunch on the bench he caught one last glimpse of Naomi Misora before the doors slammed shut. She was a black pillar staring back at him amidst the swirling red and blue lights and milling police. L's hands. L's eyes. L's shield. …L's better, if only for the moment. Above her head were those perplexing numbers that had decided to change in a span of minutes, expanding her life by years. That in mind, he eyeballed the men around him. James Copperton. David Frick. Samuel Stone. Leonard Otter. Raymond Glicker. The two he'd seen get in front were Wade Stark and Kevin Conners. These men had two things in common.

They were all officers of the law.

The numbers above their heads all illustrated life spans that would end before the vehicle ever reached the L.A.P.D headquarters.

He waited until the paddy wagon had driven for a safe ten minutes before starting. B didn't bother to watch his hands as they hid in his lap, doing their trick. He'd never asked at the orphanage, but he was willing to bet even the great L couldn't pop his thumbs out of place, or at least he'd never been given reason to try. Beyond was now immensely proud that all his practice was paying off. Samuel Stone scowled at him. The freak had managed to stink up the whole back of the car like a gas station and now he had the gall to play with himself for a killing binge well done. "Keep your hands where I can see them freak, you can jerk off later." Sour giggles drifted amongst them and B nodded.

"Yes sir, Officer Stone." He lifted his free hands just long enough to appreciate the men's fish eyes and drained faces. Then he went to work. Two hours later the wagon was found in an airport parking garage with the remains of seven police officers piled in the back and one stripped and savaged tourist on top. "Rue Ryuzaki," alias Beyond Birthday, alias B, was nowhere to be found.

A week later the FBI received an untraceable letter to Naomi Misora letting her know she was forgiven for the lack of jam and that she and their "mutual friend" were wished warmest regards.

XXX two years later, Japan XXX

"I want to join the team."

"Okay, then can I see some I.D.?"

Note: This is the fanfiction formally known as, "Takes One to Know One." I spruced it up because the old version read too much like _The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases_, the spinoff novel Beyond Birthday came from. That and I was still loopy from sleep deprivation. The old one was deleted in favor of a new title and summary because…just because.

Reviews are appreciated and keep my ego glossy and smooth.


	2. Chide

"You're not an FBI agent anymore, Naomi. It's bad enough I signed on to the Kira case, but you promised not to stick your neck out too. I just…" Raye Penber dropped his forehead into his hands. Then he looked up at her with the same pair of hangdog brown eyes that had hooked her in the first place. Now they were less calculated, less intentional with their pleading. Purple half moons had grown under them and his bangs were stringier against his brow. He'd been sweating and aging a lot. Just mulling over the fact that he was purposefully searching out a man that could kill him from afar without so much as a gun. He blinked and sighed, "I can't let this be Los Angeles again. I won't let it be." That sent an electric wire snaking up Misora's spine.

She squeezed the teacup between her hands, focused on the heat ironing out her fingerprints. If there was one thing in the world that turned her stoic, it was the BB Murders. Just thinking about the whole mess made her insides go hollow and sick. The number of victims and the sheer gore of their deaths. The killer's damnable genius. Her complete unawareness to the fact that the madman was posing _as her partner_. All of it snapped to the front of her mind as if on 24 hour guilt trip speed dial. "This isn't Los Angeles, and Kira is not the B.B. killer. Yes, he's a murderer, yes, he's definitely imbalanced, but he's not on the same level as…as _him_."

"You mean he's not as neurotic or slaughter-happy. But Kira is supernatural, Naomi. While he's a tangible person, he can reach out and kill people by thought, or voodoo, or witchcraft or who knows what. I mean he…he just _looks_ at a person and they're dead. If anything this is worse than L.A. provided he figures out who I am!" Raye bit his lip and looked at her like a begging collie dog. "…Who I'm close to…" Naomi sent a silent curse to whoever blessed him with those puppy eyes. She set the teacup beside her fiancé's own untouched drink and slipped her hand into his. The man's blocky digits wrapped around her thin ones like a warm, padded shackle.

"How will he find out, Raye? The only ones who know we're here are my parents and every other FBI agent who's been sworn to secrecy. I'm not about to brag to the neighbors about how I'm marrying an FBI man and I'm sure you're not having 'my badge is bigger' contests with the Japanese police. Nobody knows who we are." Naomi gave him her best smile. It shrank when she watched the quirk of his eyes. "You haven't told anyone who you are, right?"

"…During the busjacking…"

'_If you did what I think you did, I will kick your pretty face in so hard it'll make a black hole. Not even kidding._' Now her tiny hand was crushing his back with her short French tips digging in. "What did you _do_, Raye?"

He took his sore hand away to rub the back of his neck. "I had to flash my I.D. to," another telltale jitter of the eyes, "to this kid who was going to jump the crazy guy with the gun. He was warning his girlfriend,"

"You showed _two_ people--!?"

"The kid was going to jump an armed man unless I proved I wasn't the nutjob's partner! It was either flash the I.D. or let some boy barely out of his acne stage try to tackle a man with a _gun_! What was I supposed to do!?" It took every fiber of her self control not to scream.

'_Cover your name on the I.D.! Get up and disarm the nut without the kid's permission! Hell, anything but flaunting your name!_' Instead: "I'm sorry. I don't want to fight anymore than you do. I just never imagined someone as paranoid as you would show his name when tailing a _Kira_ suspect." Another jitter. Misora made her bubbling interrogation retreat down her throat. "What happened with him anyway?"

"A cold trail.", Penber answered in a quick clip. "If he were Kira the gunman would've died of a heart attack long before he got turned into road pizza. …Naomi? Naomi, what's up?"

"I'm just putting things in order." For one bizarre moment her legs twitched with the urge to fold up against her chest, heels balancing on the seat's ledge. Maybe even nibble on her thumbnail. '_NO. You've already got your hypothesis just roll with it._' "So you were shadowing a Kira suspect who happened to get on the Spaceland bus. Then that Spaceland bus happened to get hijacked by some two-bit thug with a gun. Through a convoluted trust exercise this happened to force you to show your I.D. After all this mess goes down the gunman happens to have a schizophrenic freakout that sends him sprinting off the bus. And after all that, the criminal just so happens to land in the street just right to have a speeding car manslaughter him." When Raye locked eyes with his fiancé he couldn't find a sliver of shine in them, her irises an arctic matte black. "That's too much happenstance for me."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying Kira may be able to kill without using heart attacks, and maybe even manipulate his victims before murdering them." Raye's face seemed to sag at her words and she could all but see the grey hair trying to sprout over his dark locks.

"Naomi please. Please. _Please_. I know you're brilliant. I know you want to help. But I also know you're like a snowball that turns into an avalanche. This will start with us collaborating. Then you'll try to wheedle me into bringing you on my shadowing routes. If I don't crack, you'll start your own investigation while I'm out, and then I'm going to come home to a message on the answering machine telling me, 'Raye Penber, we have bad news. You see the woman you've been madly in love with for the better part of a decade was found dead of a heart attack on the sidewalk. Sorry for the inconvenience.'"

"Raye, I wouldn't--."

"Yes you would. I'm all but finished with my term here and after we meet your parents we'll be back home. We already have the white picket fence, and a yard, and a picture perfect house. A wedding, a Labrador retriever and 3.5 kids later and we'll have the American dream in the bag." They chuckled shakily at the semi-joke, both knowing how desperately Mr. Penber wanted that American dream to become a reality for them. He wanted to be the breadwinning, knight-in-shining-armor husband and father. He wanted children to play piggyback with. He wanted a big, friendly, protective dog to tackle and throw a Frisbee for. He wanted a wife who would bake a cake for everyone's birthday and never put herself in front of a knife, or a gun or a homicidal mastermind ever again. It was just a smidge less important than breathing for him.

"But that can't happen if you go jumping into the fire with me. I'm begging you, Naomi." Now the man got down on one knee and took her hand the way he had when he first showed her the diamond band resting on her finger. "Don't get into this. If the news is showing Kira, change the channel. If you're in the car and hear a Kira debate coming on the radio, switch on the Beatles. If you start to meditate on this case for more than ten minutes you'll start snowballing towards getting active and--." Something clicked behind his Adam's apple and, at last, Naomi Misora felt herself begin to wilt. Raye was going to get glassy-eyed if he uttered another syllable. She set her free hand on his squared chin and tilted his face up until they saw each other.

"I won't Raye." He reached up and held her hand against his cheek.

"Promise?"

"Promise. I'm willing to drop this whole conversation if you want to. I'll toss out the tea and make us a popcorn and soda dinner to watch the movies I rented and then--."

"Talk about how I should talk to your dad without him going nuclear on me for 'stealing his little Mimi?'" Naomi smirked evilly.

"Well I was going to say therapy sex, but if you really want--." Penber was on his feet like a flash, all traces of grief erased by red cheeks and bright eyes.

"I need therapy Dr. Misora. Very, _very_ badly." Naomi proceeded to pour both teacups down the drain and sauntered as with all the swing she could muster to the bedroom.

They made love. They smiled into each other, held each other and lay soft, slick and spent under the man's bed covers. Miss Misora was still asleep when Raye got dressed in the morning and went on what should have been another routine run with a side trip to the subway. One encounter with Kira, several leaked FBI names, and a heart attack later, Miss Misora got a phone call beginning with, "Naomi Misora we have bad news."

A bathtub's worth of tears and a hot air balloon's worth of screaming later found Naomi Misora in the fetal position on Raye's bed with a photo in hand. It was a happy picture of them in California wearing trademark beach attire and trademark tourist smiles. It was a cheesy picture but it had been Raye's favorite. Her throat was sore, her eyes pulsed and her face burned even as she buried herself in the cool of her '_Ex-_,' fiancé's pillow. The photo was dropped in favor of staring at her engagement ring and rubbing the hard little gem on top. It sent her bawling again and she couldn't form one coherent word.

The closest she got was, "_Reh-hay..! Rayyheh..!_" On and on in a choking, snuffling loop. '_Kira! Raye. Kira! Dead. Kira! Murdered. Kira! Knew him. Kira! Important. Kira! Tired. Kira! Stay awake. Kira! So tired. KIRA! Just going to rest my eyes--,_' Naomi went limp on the cotton covers, Raye's face floating behind her eyelids. Seconds passed and her eyes dried. Minutes passed and the creases in her forehead smoothed. Hours passed and the front door made a noise. There was a soft _clk-kkt_ and the turn latch unlocked. Well-oiled motel hinges turned silently as the visitor entered. The door closed just as quietly. He walked through the apartment with gloved fingertips ghosting over every piece of memorabilia in sight. The rims of teacups in the sink. The empty photo frame resting on an end table. DVD cases on the couch. He even prodded at the trail of shed clothes from the night before with his foot. His eyes ran over the discarded tie and bra for an extra second before cracking his neck and moving on.

He gave the bathroom a once over and came to his final destination. There she was. Naomi Misora, drained and curled in a ball. Her hair was splayed out in a messy corona and her eyes were circled with red. He walked to her side of the bed with his eyes outlining her from the toes up. A photo of her and the ex-FBI agent rested by her hands. He tweezed this between his thumb and forefinger. No name or number over the smiling man. "Naomi Misora" and a line of promising numbers hovered over the smiling woman in the picture and the sleeping woman on the bed.

His thumbnail drove into the man's paper neck, leaving a wrinkled crease over his carotid artery. He let it fall to the carpet like a leaf. Back to the woman. His gaze shifted to her hands, the left one twinkling in the lamp she hadn't bothered to turn off. An engagement ring with a clear rock the size of a fat raindrop rested there with the fingers of her right hand still cupping it sadly. He tsked her mutely. Slowly, soundlessly, he plucked her left wrist from the spot by her bosom. Naomi shifted irritably and he stilled. Her fingers twitched, then nothing.

"Heavy sleeper tonight, aren't we?" With doctorial precision he pinched the diamond between his fingers and turned the ring until the gem faced down into her palm. Much better. He set her hand back down. Brushed some stray hair from her face. Much better. He straddled her and latched hands around her neck, shocking her alert. Much better.

She kicked, punched, clawed and tried to yell in the same second. One hand snapped to her thigh, instinctively reaching for the gun she'd abandoned. "Regretting it _now_, Misora? Regretting a _lot_ of things now?" Naomi was looking him full in the face now, black eyes meeting a pair of alien crimson dots. "What are you going to do _now_, Naomi Misora?" He chuckled then, an even more inhuman thing—some deep-throated din like _henh-henh-henh-henh_. "_What are you going to do?_" _Henh-henh-henh-henh!_ Misora's brows drew down in a V and her teeth showed between peeled back lips. At once her small hands were returning his favor, thumbs driving into his windpipe.

'_I'm going to make you pay, you bastard! Death's too good for you—I'm going to see to it personally that you're buried in cement up to your neck with your eyes pulled out so you can never see another face again! You'll be fed salt and water for the rest of your miserable life!_'

"I don't think you can, Misora!" The thing with the red eyes hissed as both sets of hands tightened. "I don't think you're strong enough anymo--." Her nails drove in like stilettos and his Adam's apple turned into a geyser. She was splattered with black blood that wasn't blood at all. It smelled—it _tasted_—like…ink. One more gurgled laugh filled her ears.

_Henh-henh-henh-HENH-HEENNHH--!_

"Aah!" And she was awake. There was no ink-bleeding bogeyman strangling her. There was no invader with red eyes mocking her. She was just as alone as she was the day before. Again, Raye's phantom drifted through her mind. This time she didn't cry, only felt her eyes throb in their sockets. "Ughh…", she sighed and rubbed her hands over her temples. "Ow..!" A tiny hysteric giggle popped out from the sudden break in her angst as she checked her hands. Her pseudo smile froze. The engagement diamond was staring back at her from the bottom of her ring finger. '_When did I do that? _Did_ I do that?_' Yes. Absolutely she had. In her sleep. If the answer was no…well, that raised a very disturbing image of the red eyes and unlocked doors. '_But I did it. I'm sure I did._' One hundred percent sure? '_99.999 percent sure. …98 percent sure at worst._' She swung her feet over the bedside and looked down. '_Maybe 97 percent._'

Resting beside her foot was the summer photo of Raye and her. Naomi picked it up with clammy fingers. There was a crease over Mr. Penber's neck. Her mouth shriveled into a razor thin line as she slapped the picture down on the pillow. '_I did it in my sleep. Just acting out the nightmare._' Naomi nodded to herself in agreement. The alarm clock on the nightstand read 6:23 AM in bright green. "What are you going to do now, Naomi Misora?" The sting behind her eyes dulled. "You are going to catch Kira, alone or not." Misora went to work.

She dug through her drawer and pulled out a plain black shirt, plain dark jeans, plain black socks and plain underwear. Yesterday's clothes were stripped off as she marched to the bathroom. Forty minutes later she came out clean and dark from the chin down. She switched on the Internet and pulled her boots on as she waited. It blinked on a moment later and she entered the Spaceland web address. Another blink and she was looking at the amusement park's bright logo telling her how welcome she was and showcasing a picture of happy youngsters getting off a Spaceland bus in front of the park's gates. Double click Bus Routes. The arrow turned into an hourglass. Misora took that time to find her purse. "Okay, double check." Wallet. I.D. Makeup. Gloves. Spare change. That was it and immediately she found herself scorning the extra space. Before quitting the FBI that space had been neatly taken up by her gun, something civilians weren't allowed in oh-so-strict Japan. '_Damn it_.' She prayed she wouldn't need it. The beach photo went in the purse instead.

The bus routes loaded and she found the bus number Raye had given her. It would stop three miles from the hotel in an hour. The gloves and leather jacket came on before zooming to the front door. It was as locked as it had been the night before. On instinct she looked over her shoulder at the far wall. No Wara Ningyo doll. No victim lying slashed and pulpy on the floor. No B. Nothing that 'should be there but wasn't.' It was just the opposite actually. There was something new sitting on the coffee table. Fresh chills grabbed at her back.

Flowers. A bouquet of fresh white gardenias.

'_Someone was in here. Someone broke in and out of here in the night without my knowing and—oh. Wait._' Naomi walked to the table to see a tiny professional card resting in the petals.

_Sincerely, the Teito Hotel Management._ There was an illegible squiggle that must have been the manager's signature and then the typed _Tsugumi Ohba_. "Oh." Courtesy condolence flowers to go with the mints on the pillows. A kind gesture, if an automatic one. Naomi spared two minutes to put them in a vase.

One regular bus ride later Misora was waiting at the Spaceland bus stop. She brought out the picture and hid the crease on Raye's neck with her thumb. '_Excuse me sir or madam, was this man on your bus during the hijacking? Yes? Did you see him talk to anybody prior to the hijacker going insane and jumping into traffic, maybe showing somebody a badge? Yes? By any chance do you remember what they looked like? Know where they live? Have a list of their deepest exploitable phobias? Yes? Thank you very much for your time sir or madam._' Sarcasm aside, she had to ask about Raye and whoever the driver could recall being near him. The one Raye had flashed his I.D. to had to be Kira.

The Spaceland bus arrived ten minutes later with the bus stop barren but for her. Spying through the window she couldn't see any passengers and the driver looked surprised to see anyone waiting for him. Teenagers and families couldn't be bothered this early in the morning, she supposed. After talking the flaccid man into getting off the bus she showed him Raye's face.

Had this man been on the bus during the hijack?

Yes, he was the one who shouted for everyone to get down when the hijacker cracked.

Did he remember anyone else from the ordeal?

Nope.

'_Dammitall._' Misora thanked him anyway and went on her way to the most important stop. She had set up an appointment yesterday in the cool stupor that had kicked in after the bad news call. Her theory had never left her thoughts and she knew the Kira investigation would need this nugget of information if they didn't have it already. One shaky phone conversation later the man on the other end said that her appointment with the Kira case investigators in two days. She'd hung up and dialed her parents. Cue emotional breakdown. Today the appointment was waiting for her at the police station. The appointment, and what the books and movies would call a chance encounter.

Streets were trekked, cars rolled past, wind blew in swirls and her boots padded sturdily forward. The police station eventually came to loom over her with its strong blocky build, the structure itself looking like a bulked up shield. Misora breezed through the glass doors and up to the front desk where two limp men behind computer screens sat. They didn't notice her until she cleared her throat. When their eyes turned up the first thing they saw was a leather clad bust. Naomi cleared her throat again and they looked attentively at her face with their own glowing pink. "C-Can we help you, miss?" She smiled at the one on her right.

"I'm Shoko Maki, I'm here to speak with the Kira investigators." Poindexter wilted sheepishly behind the desk.

"I'm sorry, but nobody on the investigation is at headquarters…right…now…" His voice trickled away meekly under Misora's bug-eyed stare.

'_You did not just say that little man. You did _not.' "I have to speak with them, it's important."

"I already said they're not here--."

"I heard you the first time. What I'm not gathering is how they're not here when I made an appointment in advance. Where are they now? Wherever they are I can wait for them for however long it takes." At this the mousy man wavered, a bead of sweat forming at his hairline. The words she needed to hear were ready to burst from his mouth like a spit bubble.

"To tell the truth…"

'_Good boy, tell Misora what she needs to hear._'

"Excuse me, I'm Light Yagami, the chief's son." Misora turned a discreet glance to her left. She hadn't even heard him walk up. "If he really isn't here I'll leave this with you." He set a floppy bag on the counter

'_Losing your touch Misora Massacre._' He was a young man with a decent build and a pretty face, wispy brown hair sweeping over his brow. Very preppy looking. She looked back at Poindexter.

"Oh, long time no see, Light!", said Poindexter number two. He looked like a puppy in a suit and tie. Light smiled awkwardly.

"I'm sorry, I know it's rude, but all receptionists look the same to me."

Poindexter two brushed this off. "I don't blame you, tons of receptionists circulate through here. I was here a year ago when you helped crack that insurance case." There was a sudden twitch in Misora's mind.

'_This kid solved a case?_' Young Mr. Yagami chuckled amiably.

"Thanks. I was especially proud of that one."

'_Of 'that' one? Has he solved more..? Who is this boy?_'

" Ah, do I just sign here or..?"

"Yeah, and put the time too." Light bent to scrawl his name. Misora was just wondering if she should sign too when Poindexter two gushed on. "Do you have any theories on the Kira case yet?"

'_Yes, Wonder Boy, do you?_'

"A couple. If they're right I might just outsmart L." Naomi heard tires brake and squeal in her mind.

'_Outsmart L? Outsmart L!? As in _L _L!?_' Now Naomi had her eyes glued to the young man. She opened her mouth but was cut off by Poindexter one.

"Trust me, ma'am, we can deliver your message in confidence." He said this with the same eager face © of Poindexter two.

"Excuse me." Naomi turned to see Light looking at her through the caramel streaks of his hair. "My father is the head of the investigation, I can pass it on directly the next time I see him. I'd do it now, but I can't reach his cell or anyone else's." He turned towards her, all earnest eyes and Clark Kent brand good will. "Ever since the FBI members got killed off several investigators signed off the case or went on breaks." Poindexter two proceeded to mumble that he shouldn't reveal so much to outsiders. Light pointed out the public knew the gist of it already and so on and so forth. In so many words, Light Yagami and Naomi Misora got to talking. Specifically, they got to talking about how Light trusted her on sight, how they both believed Kira's abilities were supernatural, and the boy convincing her it would be safer to talk outside.

Outside they went.

They began to walk in stride with each other, Light sighing like a man twice his age. "I didn't want to talk about it inside. There's no telling if Kira has a leak in there.", he groused with an air of shriveling optimism. "…I think Kira can control his victims actions before they die."

'_I think I hear the Twilight Zone theme playing somewhere._' "That's just what I was going to say."

He raised his brows. "Really?"

"Yes. I think he can manipulate them but also," '_Don't tell me you already guessed this kid, I want to bring _some_thing to the table_,' "I think he can kill with more than heart attacks." Yagami stopped in place. Then the conversation began to get interesting. His responses consisted mostly of disbelieving agreement, and how did she come to these conclusions, and oh how sad that your FBI fiancé died, and I see why you haven't told anyone else it all sounds like a stretch. Naomi explained how Kira had played with the criminals and her lover in a morbid game of chess to get the FBI names out of the latter. All the while the young man was appropriately in awe and/or silent shock by turns. Eventually the conversation came to its first climax.

"…and when did the hijacking take place?" He dug out his wallet, his coat sleeve sliding down to reveal an expensive watch. Naomi told him and he scribbled. Next he made a show of something important dawning on him. "Sorry, I didn't get your name. You already know mine's Light Yagami—the kanji of 'yoru' from 'night' and 'kami' from 'god.' Light's made of 'tsuki' from 'moon.'" He chuckled embarrassedly. "_No_ idea what Mom was thinking when she named me."

"I've heard worse." Misora shrugged. "I'm Shoko Maki. It's 'aida' from 'space,' 'moku' from 'wood,' 'te' from 'reflection,' and 'ko' from 'child.'" New trust establishment done. Light nodded in affirmation before stuffing his notepaper back in the billfold and tucked it away, taking a quick glance at his watch as he did. The boy smiled at her and seemed to cock his head to one side, as if listening to a racket only he could hear. Yagami smiled his boy next door smile at her.

"Okay, I think I've got everything. I'll pass this all on to my dad for you."

"No thanks, I'd rather tell the investigators in person. They shouldn't be gone all day and I don't mind waiting." Yagami mm-hmmed and walked silently beside her, the woman feeling his eyes welding to her. Naomi sighed inside. '_Even the bright ones succumb to hormones._' When the gaze—a completely unblinking one--started to last too long she blurted, "We'll definitely catch Kira with this don't you think? Any deaths will be reviewed with a fine toothed comb now."

This seemed to jolt Light out of his one-sided staring contest and he responded with a shaky, "Y-yeah." Naomi couldn't imagine a handsome _bishounen_ like him being awkward with girls his age.

'_Sorry junior, I'm not a cougar and the whole mourning my fiancé thing's putting a damper on romance at the moment._' She watched him tilt his head again, hearing some dog whistle noise she couldn't catch. Misora heard something of her own in the back of her mind. A cold, suspicious voice that told her, '_He's so sweet. So helpful. So pristine. And I don't like that._' Why? She didn't know. "You know, at least one of the investigators could be back by now." Misora turned 180 degrees and plodded back to the headquarters. Yagami agreed and stalked along in her footsteps. The boy was mute for a stretch of time. When she just couldn't take it anymore she stopped, making Light halt a few feet from her. "Um…"

"Yes?"

"Do you need to go to the police station? Not to sound ungrateful, but I'm fine to take care of myself." A long pause.

"Nah. Nah I'm okay." He looked crestfallen and bowed his head to the side, mouth pursed. Misora got all of three steps away before the boy rushed up to her, face furrowed in thought. "I shouldn't be saying this, but you should know…" The creases vanished as he came to a decision. "There's no way to get in contact with the investigators period." Misora raised a brow at him as he locked eyes with her. "Because right now they're using the 'unknown investigation team' strategy. After what happened to the FBI this is the only way they can stay safe."

"I see…" '_What I don't see is…_' "How do you know this?" His eyebrows perked up and he seemed to sigh inside.

"I guess I should spit it out already." Yagami closed his eyes ceremoniously before slowly opening them with the gravity of an old school actor. "I'm _on_ the investigation team."

"What?" '_Oh nuh-uh. No. Not processing. You look like you started shaving yesterday, Wonder Boy, how can you--?_'

"I know how it sounds but, L's at the head of the team,"

"No surprise there." There was a tiny tic in Light's eye at that.

"Yeah. L's been getting frustrated over how the members of the team have whittled down. He brought me on because I've solved quite a few cases before."

'_Alright. I can buy that from Poindexter two's fanboying._' "Then talking to you is like talking to L, isn't it?" Naomi smiled gratefully at him and tightened her grip on her purse strap. "Then I'll leave it to you." '_While I go chew out the receptionists for bullshitting me on my appointment. Maybe look up the Yagami residence's phone number and call to make sure Chief Yagami got the message…_' She stopped herself from pressing on to the headquarters. Here she was, leaving the kid to convince his father and the great L that some random woman named Shoko Maki, claiming to be a fiancé of an FBI agent, had waltzed up to him with a Fort Knox's wealth of clues and then vanished. She could at least add some extra credibility for him to throw in. "You know I once worked under L." That made his eyes pop out. Naomi smiled. It was good to be the one on the impressive end for once. "Two years ago I helped him solve a case in the States." '_Granted, the killer in question vanished, but I'll let that sleeping dog lie._' "We only ever spoke online or over the phone, but if he's even half of how sharp he was then, he'll definitely take down Kira."

A shadow passed over his features as a flabbergasted, "Wow," passed his lips. "You really worked with L?"

"It helped that is was in the FBI until recently.".

"God, I should have known. You handle your theories so professionally—I mean, wow—I could learn so much from you." He was flapping his hands around animatedly now, amber eyes hopping around to different targets as he did. They gushed back and forth for a while, about how Naomi didn't trust the Japanese police, how Light couldn't figure why she trusted him, how it was because he reminded her of L. At the end of these pleasantries Light squared his chin and held his hand out as if asking her to dance. "Join the team."

Everything muted in her. "E-Excuse me..?"

He spoke more forcefully and she was reminded even more of Clark Kent, all spotless conscience and blisteringly bright good will. "I'm serious. If you join the investigation officially you can work directly with L. You can catch Kira yourself!" So grave, so perfect he bordered on corny. It was rare these days and Naomi was awed. "If you've really worked with L before, hell, if you've actually been an FBI agent, you're way more qualified than some high schooler who got lucky on a few cases! We _need_ somebody like you." He chuckled sheepishly. "I know how hokey this sounds, but this almost seems, I don't know, _fated_ or something." The young man even blushed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to get so worked up. I shouldn't even be trying to twist your arm into joining. You're mourning and here I am trying to reel you into the same thing that got him…" Light wilted in shame, going so far as to scuff his shoe. "Forget I said anything. I should never have come on to you so strongly; someone in your situation…"

"Stop right there."

"Huh?"

"I know all the risks that come with a job like this. I've been closer to death than you can imagine," she didn't catch the sharp glint in his honey eyes, "and as far as Kira is concerned I know better than to drop my guard. If I die chasing him down, Raye and I will just have something to talk about when I catch up to him." Another unnoticed glint. "I want to join the team." Yagami favored her with a wide grin.

"Okay, then can I see some I.D.?" Out came the wallet and notepaper again, his fallen sleeve revealing the shiny watch. "It's a formality thing. I believe you're who you are, but anyone doing recruiting has to check out some kind of tangible identification. A driver's license, a membership card. Heh, I just used my high school I.D." Enter climax number two. Now think back to Los Angeles, readers. Think back to that meddling cat. This would be the second life that feline managed to save by setting its own schedule. How? Because had that cat not prodded Naomi Misora into knocking her head, there would be no extra man on the sidewalk. Without that extra man, Naomi would have handed over her own death warrant. All rambling aside, what did one extra pedestrian have to do with saving the lady's life?

_WhhHHAACKT!_

"_Oww!_", Light yowled.

That's how.

Misora mentally kicked herself. This was the second time today she'd overlooked a new presence in her midst, and this time the presence was at least a head taller than her _and had been coming towards her front._ '_There is just _no excuse_, this time, Misora. _None.' Light had his pencil and paper tucked in his left hand so his right hand could massage the sore spot on the back of his crown. They sized up the interloper together. He was a tall fellow in a white suit with a long dark coat hanging from his shoulders and a matching fedora perched on his head. The man's frowning face made a prune look sleek by comparison and his eyes were cased in by black bifocals. Misora's scan ended on the cane supporting him up under his palm. The man was anywhere from too weak-boned to carry himself or was hovering in some level of blindness. '_Old, blind or infirm, assault is still assault, old man._' She opened her mouth to tell him off when Light beat her to the punch.

"What was _that_ for?" This deepened the mystery geezer's scowl and he leaned down imposingly.

"Like you don't know you little horndog—'we need an I.D.' Feh! You just want to take down her number, don't ya'?" For all the ancient hoarseness to his voice, the old fart still had a lot of fire behind his vocals.

"I--."

"You boys today are all the same!", the old man ranted, raising his cane spastically. He nearly clipped the boy's forehead. "You don't even hesitate anymore, do ya'? Just find some pretty girl and feed her some boy scout, passive aggressive flowery garbage to butter her up and then, _bam_!" He swung his cane once and both Light and Misora had to duck back. "Once the honeymoon stage is over you've used the poor girl like a tissue and then ya' leave her for dead for the next conquest. Makes me sick." While the old man shook his head in revulsion and young Mr. Yagami was wondering what planet the senior was from, Misora was thinking.

She had nearly let it drop that her name was fake. She'd been about to whip out her I.D. to prove how worthy she was—motion for motion what Raye had done. And where was Raye because of it? In a body bag waiting on funeral arrangements from his parents. '_You're acting like a complete idiot today, Misora! You were going to blow your whole setup just to appease Wonder Boy and--._' To appease Wonder Boy. That distrusting voice was trying to speak up again. Trying to tell why she didn't like John Q. Charmingsmile. Meanwhile the soapbox theatre continued.

"Sir, this is really none of your--."

"It's definitely my business when I spy one of you 'pleasant' little sharks trying to work over a girl who doesn't look to know any better." He jerked his gloved hand as if to whack the boy again and Light flinched back accordingly. "Which brings me to the second point." Misora suddenly found herself staring down the length of the senior's walking staff. The old man's scowl turned a fraction softer. "I'm especially disappointed in you missy. Just listenin' to you I can tell you're a smart one and here you are, lettin' this acting school dropout lure you into showing your phone number or your address or whatever else he wants from you." He flapped his hands in exasperation, nearly bonking Yagami again who was looking more than a bit peeved now. "If he politely asked ya' ta' kill yourself, wouldja' do it?"

_This_ time Misora noticed things. She noticed Light Yagami go paralyzed. She noticed his face going from annoyed to anxious. She noticed what the cold little voice was trying to communicate. '_I don't like Wonder Boy. Why? Because he's Wonder Boy. He's been so very helpful and polite and forthcoming and agreeable on every solitary thing I brought up. Too good to be true. Which probably means he is._' That revelation opened the floodgates in a microsecond. '_Again, why would they bother to okay an appointment with me if they knew they'd be gone? Why has he been trying so hard to keep me from the police station?_' Then there was the million dollar bonus round question: '_Why would L, the finicky, eternally paranoid L, let his grunts recruit anybody they saw fit and permit them to _meet L in person_? On that note, how do I know you really work for him, Light Yagami?_' All of this clicked into place with a physical force that sent her brain spinning.

The woman wouldn't be surprised if her expression mirrored the old man's. '_How could I be so—so amateur!? I can't believe I just went along with it and almost trashed my one good move today just on the good faith that junior here was telling the truth! God!_' Misora looked up into the wrinkled man's sunglasses and made a show of clamping her hand tight over her bag. "Thanks for your concern sir, but don't worry, this shark's too young for me anyway. I promise he won't get so much as my area code." The old man looked unconvinced.

"You promise me, young lady? This boy looks like a regular ladykiller ta' me." For one sliver of an instant, Misora thought she knew this decrepit fellow. Thought she'd heard this friendly condescending tone before. It passed.

"I promise..?" The senior finally smiled down at her and his squared shoulders relaxed.

"Ryo Renjo, professional shark hunter.", he said with a bow and a flourish. Renjo turned his head over his shoulder and sneered at Light who gave a placid stare back. "Be sure to warn any of your buddies that I'm roaming the streets, Casanova." At last he marched onward on all three of his feet, a gloved fist held high in triumph and she looked over her shoulder to watch him go. "Another fair lady saved!" Naomi couldn't hold in a quick giggle. '_I might owe that crazy coot my life. Thank you Mr. Ryo Renjo._' She felt the back of her neck prickle. '_Oh, finally!_' Misora whipped her head back around and this time she felt the new person coming before he saw him. A man in white carrying an umbrella moving in a hurry. Alerted by her shock, Light turned too and the man with the umbrella hit the brakes.

"Light!"

"A-Aizawa!" The boy quickly stuffed his wallet and paper away.

Misora rushed forward. "Are you on the Kira case too?" She felt Light tense. Aizawa turned to her.

"What? How do--?" Light led him away by the shoulder.

"Aizawa, I need to explain." Out of Misora's earshot Light illustrated the grave situation to the older man. He suspected this woman, Shoko Maki, may be Kira.

How was this, Aizawa queried.

Because Miss Maki had been trying to convince him to take her to a _face-to-face_ meeting with the Kira case investigators.

Oh my!

Because Miss Maki was making huge claims of having been in the FBI, of being engaged to one of the dead FBI members, of having actually _worked with L_ two years ago in the United States, all without citing a single name, city or reliable source to validate herself.

Oh dear!

If nothing else, Shoko Maki was a shady character and should be brought into custody, at least until her story was confirmed.

Oh absolutely!

With all of this said and done in a span of seconds, Aizawa turned stolidly to Misora. "Ah, Shoko Maki, right?" Misora wondered at the caution in his voice.

"Yes?" He came a step closer and she saw his fingers glance over the silver of some handcuffs. Misora narrowed her eyes. '_What kind of siren song did you sing for him, Wonder Boy?_'

"I'd like to escort you to police headquarters, ma'am.", not dropping his own name. He reached gingerly for her shoulder and Misora took a step back, cramming her fists in her jacket pockets.

She smiled with all the warmth of Antarctica at him. "Thank you, sir," she stressed the last word, "I was just heading there myself." Aizawa nodded and drew his hand back, opting to walk side-by-side with her. Behind them Light Yagami smirked at the back of Misora's head and began to trek towards his house.

Until, "Oh, Light.", the umbrella man called. Light stopped. "You'll need to come too." The boy's cheery smile solidified into a rictus.

"Right, right sorry!", the boy called bashfully as he hurried after him. The hostile trio walked straight to the police station in electric silence. A block further not even the "awakened" Misora bothered to look in the dark alley to their left. Not that there was much to see. Garbage dumpsters. Garbage that had failed to reach the dumpsters. A drowsy stray cat that couldn't be bothered to meow at her visitor. The visitor in question. The visitor had tied his trenchcoat tight over his white suit and stuffed the cheap white costume fedora in a pocket. Now all but the still-glued face was swathed in black. Not that he needed such precautions that deep in the alley.

He watched the three names pass his hiding spot as they danced over their hair. There went the umbrella-wielding Shuichi Aizawa. Then went the intriguing Naomi Misora. At last came the perplexing Light Yagami. Why was young Yagami perplexing? "Misora changed her numbers. But somehow you got rid yours Light Yagami." The man in black hunched over and nibbled his thumb. "How did you manage that?" Naomi Misora was unaware that she'd done anything to change her life span, he was 99.999 percent sure of that. Light Yagami had hidden his completely, which meant he'd done something extra special… '_Or he still is._' B sneered in the dark as his suspicions turned that much more valid.

Note: Well this is taking forever and we still have no sighting of L yet. That is a crime against any self-respecting Death Note fanfiction. It shall be remedied post haste in the next chapter.

P.S. More reviews means less supernatural heart attacks.

P.P.S. I appreciate those that reviewed the first chapter. Thanks guys!

P.P.P.S. But seriously, _think of the heart attacks._


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